


cherry red as sweet as sin

by soniclipstick (veriscence)



Series: Kindergarten 'verse [3]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blow Jobs, Deepthroating, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Kindergarten Teacher Clint Barton, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power bottom Phil Coulson, Rough Sex, Some Plot, Top Clint Barton, make-up kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 15:06:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3415274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veriscence/pseuds/soniclipstick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint is the sexiest thing on the planet, Phil's always known that. But the reality of a Clint with kohl-rimmed eyes and cherry red lips slams into the pleasure centres of Phil's brain like a freight car so hard it takes him a full twenty seconds to recover. </p>
<p>It's not surprising how quickly the fleeting fancy of Clint and skin and heat becomes reality after that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cherry red as sweet as sin

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to CallipygianGoldfish for an outstanding beta as always. This is a direct follow up to part 2 of the Kindergarten 'verse, and an indirect follow up to part 1. 
> 
> Also, this is shameless porn. It's so filthy I was anxious about sending this to Calli. Someone take me to church.

Phil's an expert at a lot of things; it's the whole reason Nick bullied him into working for him all those years ago. _A large skill set_ , it says on his aptitude report. What he's never had to deal with is makeup, so there are no limits to his relief when Clint tells him about Skye's recent makeup emergency. He's a little disappointed that their afternoon together is being postponed for Skye's impromptu makeup course. But it's okay.

Phil's okay with it, really.

Sometimes Phil thinks Clint loves Skye more than Phil does; he's definitely a better parent than Phil is. Clint's the one who spends countless days meticulously sewing the Halloween costumes and remembers the important questions at parent-teacher meetings. Clint has the preternatural ability to listen to the most overly descriptive bits of drama, from "he took my seat that's so not fair", to "I can't go to school today because I don't have the cool shoes", queue fifteen reasons why her shoes aren't cool. Phil tends to zone out and get smacked, but Clint actually pays attention.

Sometimes when Skye walks out of the door in the early mornings, Clint just watches the elevator door until Phil pulls him back in and kisses him and distracts him with ideas of getting another one. They're empty promises. Neither of them wants any more children; Clint has enough of them at the school, but it doesn't fail to distract Clint from the fact that their little girl is growing up, so it's what Phil does. It's fine. This is their family and Phil doubts Skye remembers life before Clint, which is just fine with him. Clint always makes sure they make it to the grave every three months or so. Despite that, Skye doesn't actually remember Audrey, who Phil has learned to think of without bringing up that ache that used to be there before Clint.

Clint's an amazing father and an even better husband and Phil couldn't have asked for more. Between teaching, working on his graduate thesis and Skye, they haven't had a moment to themselves longer than five minutes for weeks.

It's not about the sex.

At least, it's not _just_ about the sex.

They aren't young men anymore, he knows that. He's forty-two, Clint's only thirty-nine (even if he looks closer to thirty than forty). They're not fucking each other every day into the bed, bath and beyond anymore, which is a good thing because they have neither the time nor the energy for that these days. However, they've always had a healthy and active sex life. Unfortunately, between mid-term reports and Clint working towards his graduate degree, the only close moments spent together are the quick, nearly habitual hand jobs during their shared showers in the mornings, short stolen moments of intimacy that leave Phil longing for more. By the time they get to bed these days, they're so tired they fall asleep before getting to tell each other about their day.

It's just that Phil had really been looking forward to taking Clint out for coffee and croissants, walking around the city hand in hand. And then to pressing Clint into the bed later at night, drawing out moans and echoed gasps. Clint makes the most beautiful noises in bed and Phil loves being the reason for them. Phil had been hoping for the frantic touches of the night to lead into them making love early in the morning, slow and easy, the curtains drawn open and the first light of day casting rays of gold over Clint.

Except then they'd had a surprise visit from Steve (and Harley because no one trusts Tony with a three year child, especially his own three year child), so they'd gone out for lunch. By the time they'd come home, Skye was waiting for Clint with her bag of makeup, fingers tapping an erratic rhythm against the kitchen table.

Clint and Skye had disappeared into her bedroom, speaking of contouring and morning beauty rituals. It's past ten now and Phil has resigned himself to his side of the bed, aptitude tests in hand and glasses forlorn and low on his nose. It's okay if Clint ends up being too tired, Phil tries to convince himself, as long as he gets to fall asleep with Clint in his arms, warm and fluid, legs entangled and moist breath at his neck. He'd promised Clint through thick and thin, and this isn't the worst thing that's ever happened to them. They're not fighting or anything. They're just busy, for Pete's sake.

But Phil misses Clint so bad he wishes he could rip that ache out of his chest, he can't bear it sometimes.

So when the bedroom door opens, and Clint walks in, the first thing that happens to Phil is a sudden rush of blood south. Clint is the sexiest thing on the planet, Phil's always known that. But the reality of a Clint with kohl-rimmed eyes and cherry red lips slams into the pleasure centres of Phil's brain like a freight car so hard it takes him a full twenty seconds to recover. It's not surprising how quickly the fleeting fancy of Clint and skin and heat becomes reality after that.  

He doesn't know he's moving until he finds himself shutting the bedroom door by pushing Clint against it. He presses one hand against Clint's taut belly, holding him in place while he turns the lock and brings his other hand up to Clint's throat. Phil takes the moment to observe, to commit this to memory because he doesn't know how long that red will last, how long before the kohl smudges and runs.

Logic and common sense has left his mind, replaced by one all-encompassing thought, to get as close as possible to Clint. 

Clint knows him like no one else, knows him inside and out and every micro expression as if he'd painted them on himself, so he just smiles in understanding and runs a bubblegum pink tongue over his lip. There's a little bit of lipstick on his front teeth and Phil leans in, runs his tongue over the teeth before capturing Clint's mouth and making him Phil's, his alone. Clint gasps and it's desperate. Phil knows when Clint can't wait, knows it from the arch of his back and the fingers digging into Phil's neck and jaw. It's been too long; they're both desperate for this by now. Phil crowds him in, presses his rock hard cock against Clint's belly, feels Clint's own erection against his hip and grinds against it because he needs to hear that pleading whine escape Clint's mouth. Clint's trapped between the door and Phil, and Phil nearly keens from the knowledge that he isn't running away anymore. He hasn't in a long while. Contrarily, Clint hooks his feet into Phil's hips and locks them in place with a deliberate roll of his hips.

"Are you trying to fall?" Phil groans at the friction, controls his urge to rut against Clint like a dog in heat. He holds onto Clint's thighs, muscles moving under his hands. He's used to Clint's weight now, who is indeed as heavy as those bulging muscles look, but he's always trusted Phil not to let him fall. Phil doesn't ever plan on breaking that trust, so he holds Clint tight and carries him towards the bed.

"I'm trying to have sex with my incredibly sexy husband, hurry the fuck up," Clint groans as Phil pushes him until he's leaning against the leather headboard. Clint's so beautiful like this, the tight t-shirt stretching across his chest, blush already running down his neck. His jeans do little to hide the bulge of his cock.

"Do you know how much I've missed this?" Phil pulls off his shirt and steps out of his sleep pants before joining Clint on the bed. Clint's pulled off his t-shirt and is unbuttoning his jeans when Phil climbs into bed with him and tugs the jeans down. His cock bobs up, purple and curved. Clint holds his arms open and Phil goes- no, falls into the embrace, hearts and shoulders pressed together, Phil's legs around Clint's waist. 

"I know. I'm sorry, baby. Let me make it up to you, how do you want me?" Clint asks, his words fluttering butterflies against Phil's neck. Phil has to think about this because when Clint offers, it's because he genuinely wants what Phil chooses. And now he has to choose, he doesn't know what he wants. He could have Clint folded in half, he thinks, his legs up to his shoulders as Phil pushes in, locked in place by Phil's arms and the constricting jeans as Phil pounds into him. No. Phil's big, and it would take too long to open Clint up. But neither of them will last long enough to get through the prep tonight. Then he's once again distracted by those pretty red lips and _fuck_ he needs them wrapped around his cock.

"Here's what we're going to do," Phil tells him. "I'm going to fuck that pretty mouth of yours, and then I'll ride your cock 'til you can't see straight. Does that work for you?" 

"Fuck, yes, that totally works," Clint laughs, one arm coming up to cradle Phil's face while leaning in for a kiss, deep and filthy, before he pulls back and pushes Phil's thighs up. He obliges, standing on his knees and moving forward. Clint looks up at him, mouth open in a mischievous smile. Phil smirks, then grabs Clint by the neck, holding him in place while guiding his cock into his mouth. Clint opens his mouth wide, and Phil just fits, he pushes in until he's about half way in and hits the back of Clint's throat. His mouth stretches around Phil's cock, cherry red and spit slick. #

They fit.

He considers pushing all the way in, Clint can take it, but he loves this moment right here, where Clint's mouth is full with Phil's cock, where there is stillness. Phil stops. Warm air blows on his cock as Clint breathes in and out with his nose, eyes fixed on Phil. He looks back, transfixed at the sight. A trail of saliva leaks out of the corner of Clint's mouth, and Phil wipes it from the edge of his mouth to his chin, relishing in the red smears that follow.

_Fuck_ , he needs to fuck that throat, and Clint sees everything. Clint looks up at him before grabbing him by the thighs and pulling towards him. He holds onto Clint by the neck, braces his other hand on the headboard and pushes in slowly, eyes locked with Clint's until Clint's nose rests against Phil's stomach. A thumb presses against Clint's throat, where Phil can see the outline of his own cock, _inside_ Clint.

Phil lets go.

He thrusts wildly in and out, ears delighting in the sound of Clint's throat swallowing around his cock, trying to take him whole. He looks stunning, his mouth around his cock, one hand squeezing Phil's ass while the other cups his balls. Clint keeps going backwards despite the hand on his neck, so Phil reaches further, holds him by the nape of his neck to fuck him harder but then- _son of a bitch._

A single tear falls from Clint's eye, leaving a trail of gray behind and Phil thrust in once, twice, three times and he shudders, absolutely shakes as his balls tighten and his release finds him. He lets out a shattered cry and comes down Clint's throat, pushing in until there's no space between the headboard, Clint and him. He only pulls away when Clint presses against his belly, telling him no more. He drops back down on top of Clint, head cradled under Phil's chin, rutting against Clint through the rest of his aftershocks even as Clint gasps to catch his breath. When Phil pulls away, he sees the mess that is Clint's face- eyeliner smeared, lips puffy and red. There's come and spit dripping down his chin and Phil licks it up before claiming Clint's mouth again. Clint lets him lead, gives him leeway. Phil relishes the taste of his come in Clint's mouth, blending with the sweetness that is all Clint. The Clint pulls away, warm, damp hands coming up to cup Phil's face. "Sorry, I need a breather."

Phil immediately feels chastised. "I'm so sorry; I don't even know what-"

Clint half laughs half wheezes, "You found out about a kink you didn't know about until now. We could talk about it now, or after you ride me. You promised." He pouts. It's not adorable, it's just not.

Phil smiles and kisses his painted cheek, it tastes a bit waxy, but he knows from experience that lipstick just doesn't taste nice. But what the hell, it looked amazing. He waits until Clint's breathing more or less evenly before pressing his palm up against Clint's hard cock. Clint shudders in his arms and pulls away sideways to scramble towards the night table. "Lube. Where the fuck do we put lube. I need that stuff where is-" He holds a half empty bottle up in success. "Ha! Alright, Phillip, how do you want this?"

Phil takes the bottle and drops it on the bed, manhandling Clint until he's back underneath Phil again with Phil straddling him. Grabbing the bottle, he squeezes out enough to coat his fingers before getting back up, just so his chest is Clint's head level. He throws an arm over Clint's shoulders to bring them closer and rests his head on top of Clint's. He can see Clint's fingers gripping at the bed sheets, knuckles pale even as his entire back is flushed crimson. 

It's been a while, but Phil's learned that he doesn't need as much preparation, and he likes feeling full and stretched. Reaching back he presses in and finds his prostate with practised ease. It should be too much, playing with those nerves after the white hot orgasm he's just had, but it's perfect; the bursts of pleasure combined with the smell of Clint's shampoo send him groaning into Clint hair.

Clint's hands come up to his chest, find his nipples and squeeze and pinch and Phil hisses at the sensation, at the synchronisation of another finger added and the graze of Clint's nails down his chest. "Oh Phil, you're so beautiful," Clint whispers, "I need you so much." Phil's breath hitches at that. After that, it's shocking how little time passes between Clint's words and Phil pulling his fingers out of his ass and wrapping them around the base of Clint's cock, his thighs shaking as he guides it inside him, bit by bit until he's fully impaled.

Eyes find each other's and they say everything that Clint and Phil have no words for. _I love you. I need you. Thank you for trusting me with this. You're everything._

_I'm not going anywhere._

He's not. Phil knows that now. It's been a decade, two proposals and a wedding since Clint's run but he's back and he's here to stay and he's Phil's now. Clint belongs to Phil as Phil belongs to Clint. He knows this. It doesn't stop him from drawing Clint closer with his legs wrapped around him, arms thrown over his shoulder and across his back. Clint's not leaving, and Phil's got him now, he's not going anywhere.

Clint gives him a shy smile, which morphs into a gasp as Phil rolls his hips tentatively.

Then there's nothing but sudden raw movement, Clint thrusting upwards to meet Phil's harsh but even rhythm, each thrust proof that Clint is inside him, filling him. The dark kohl makes his eyes shine brighter than stars as he looks up to Phil, baring his throat, a vision of surrender to this.

To _them_.

There is no more holding back. Phil gives in to the primal urge to push Clint right up against the headboard, holding him there by the throat while fucking down onto Clint.

Phil knows before Clint when his pleasure peaks. Phil knows that look by heart now, of half-lidded eyes and the soft sigh of relief. There's then grimace, then frantic movement as Clint grabs his ass with both hands, pushing him down. Phil follows, presses a thumb into the flesh under his jaw even as Clint empties himself inside of Phil.  He thrusts wildly in, and Phil stays still, giving him somewhere to go in the chaos of his orgasm. When he stills, Phil lets go of his hold to bring Clint close to his chest. Clint's arms come around him, firm and sure. 

"I love you," Clint whispers against his chest.

"I love you too."

They pull away reluctantly. Clint presses Phil down on the bed and grabs the wet wipes from the night table, wiping him clean, the cool paper a soothing comfort against his fluttering asshole. Phil settles on the bed, propped up on the headboard, and watches Clint as he pulls out some more wet wipes and begins dabbing at his face. Phil leans forward, winces at the sudden soreness. He ignores it in favour of coming to sit in lotus position across from Clint. "May I?"

Clint shrugs and hands him the wipes, and Phil goes about wiping it all away. Deliberate presses against his mouth, upper lip and chin where the lipstick has bled over. Clint closes his eyes as Phil wipes away the smudged kohl, then smoothes fingers under the eyes where Clint is finally coming into some wrinkles.

"I'm starting to see why you call my wrinkles sexy." Phil tells him. Clint opens one eye, then the other, grinning at him. Phil feels ridiculous grinning back, but he does anyway.

"Shower or sleep?" Phil asks him, and Clint tilts his head sideways, thinking about it.

"Sleep, please."

In answer, Phil manhandles him again, tucking him into bed. Clint holds his arms out and Phil smiles. "I know. I'm coming, love." Phil finds some underwear (because naked is great, but they live with a teenage daughter and emergencies happen, they learned that lesson the hard way), throws the used wipes in the toilet, and comes back to bed. He squeezes in behind Clint, moving the comforter only to wrap it around both of them.

He's missed sex, but this is what he's missed above all, holding Clint in the aftermath. Clint likes to be the small spoon even though he's physically bigger. Phil likes having Clint's back. He likes to taste the cooling sweat on Clint's neck. This makes it all worth it, even when Clint's so busy with glitter and Christmas crafts or who knows what, even when Phil comes home at eleven in the evening too tired to do anything other than crawl into bed.

This is home, this is where Phil finds Clint, and it's enough.

"We should really talk about this tomorrow," Phil mumbles, already half asleep.

"Sure, and I'll make sure to get some make-up of my own, all that vegan organic _Lush_ stuff smells funny."

"Oh God, I was beginning to think it was just me."

Clint laughs, his chest moves underneath Phil's palms. "Like you gave a shit, you wanted your cock down my throat the moment you saw me."

"And I got it, so I guess that makes us all winners."

"You're ruining my post-orgasmic glow, Phil."

"I'm going to sleep now."

"What, no pillow talk? You're killing me here."

"Good _night,_ Clint."

***

Clint does buy some of his own make-up. For being non-vegan, it's really worth the fact that the red stays on Clint's lips when they're sucking on Phil's cock. He also stocks up on concealer. It really is a shame that he can't enjoy the blooming bruises on Clint's neck, though.  Phil suggests that Clint wears scarves for a while, but Clint runs around with a bunch of kids for eight hours a day; if he doesn't want to sweat like a pig, Phil understands. Plus, wearing a scarf at home would bring about so many awkward questions from Skye. Instead, Phil takes to pressing against them in the kitchen while cleaning up after dinner. Clint jolts and his eyes darken, so Phil learns to settle for that instead.

***

They think they're good at hiding it, but they're not. _They're really not_ , Skye thinks as she runs back up to her room with her mug of tea. She's thirteen, not three. She sees the way dada jumps when daddy touches his neck. No amount of make-up is going to make up for that reaction. And she tells Loki as much on their way to history the next day.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you for reading!:)


End file.
